Debt of Souls

Chapter 6

The ceiling tore loose with a thunderous crack, a tidal wave of steel and concrete plunging toward Charlie’s head. “Move!” Charlie roared, shoving Lucas sideways.

Lucas tumbled across the slick marble floor as Kessler dove the other way. The massive slab slammed down where Charlie had stood, the impact shaking the vault like an earthquake. Dust and sparks billowed, choking the air.

Charlie rolled to his knees, coughing. The Game’s symbols flickered wildly on the remaining walls. Countdown: 00:49, Purge in progress.

Lucas’s voice was hoarse. “We’re gonna be buried alive!”

Kessler, bleeding and furious, scrambled over debris toward the emergency exit, only to find another steel shutter sealing it tight. “Blocked!” he snarled.

A mechanical arm lashed out from the dust, its blade-tipped end slicing through a fallen beam like butter. 

Charlie fired three shots, the muzzle flashes strobing the darkness. The arm sparked and retracted, but three more emerged, their servo motors whining. “We need another way out!” Charlie shouted.

Lucas scanned the room frantically. “There, service ducts above Section D!”

“Too high,” Kessler barked. “We’ll never climb in time.”

“Then buy me seconds!” Charlie holstered his pistol and scrambled onto the debris pile beneath the duct. His ribs screamed in protest. Lucas followed, slipping on dust-coated marble.

The mechanical arms advanced, cutting through vault boxes, each swipe a metallic shriek. One blade grazed Charlie’s jacket, leaving a glowing line where it burned fabric.

Lucas reached for the duct’s latch and tugged. It didn’t budge. “It’s locked!”

“Hack it!” Charlie grunted, bracing himself as another arm swung. He ducked, too late. The blade caught his sleeve, slicing a shallow line along his forearm. He hissed in pain but didn’t let go of the debris he was balancing on.

Lucas fumbled for his tablet, fingers trembling. Sparks from the damaged circuits flickered overhead. “Come on, come on.”

Kessler fired his pistol with expert precision, knocking one arm off its track. “I can’t hold them all!”

“Then stop complaining and shoot straight!” Charlie snapped.

Lucas’s tablet chirped, the duct latch popped open. A rush of stale air gusted down. “Go!” Charlie shoved Lucas upward. Lucas scrambled inside, his sneakers squeaking against metal.

Another mechanical arm whipped toward them. Charlie grabbed Kessler’s arm without thinking and hauled him toward the duct. 

Kessler resisted for a heartbeat, then another slab of ceiling cracked overhead, and survival instincts overruled pride.

Kessler climbed after Lucas. Charlie was last, hauling himself up just as a blade slashed the edge of the duct, showering sparks where his boot had been.

Inside, the narrow tunnel vibrated as the vault groaned and collapsed below. The sound of grinding steel and snapping concrete chased them through the darkness. “Keep moving!” Charlie panted.

The duct twisted sharply, forcing them onto their stomachs. Dust clogged their throats. Behind them, a deafening crash marked the vault’s total collapse. Lucas coughed. “The briefcase, did you get it?”

Charlie patted his chest where the strap was slung across him. “Still with us.”

Kessler’s voice was flat. “Then congratulations, Charlie. You’ve just made half the European underworld your enemy.”

“Half?” Charlie said darkly. “I was hoping for all.”

They crawled until a faint glow appeared ahead: a maintenance hatch. Kessler kicked it open, and the three of them spilled onto a deserted underground service corridor lined with pipes. 

The air was damp and smelled of rust. Lucas sat against a wall, shaking. “That was… insane.”

Kessler wiped blood from his brow. “That was only the beginning.”

Before Charlie could retort, a new holographic message flared between them:

Asset Secured. Ranking Updated: Intermediate.

New Directive: Deliver Asset to Safe Zone, 01:00:00.

Warning: Other Players are converging.

The corridor lights flickered. Somewhere in the distance, a metallic clang echoed, footsteps. Many of them. Charlie slung the briefcase over his shoulder, jaw tight. “We move now.”

Lucas groaned. “And go where?”

Kessler straightened, his smirk returning despite the blood on his sleeve. “You don’t know Frankfurt like I do. Follow me.”

Kessler led them down the dripping service corridor, boots splashing in shallow puddles. 

The pipes overhead groaned with the city’s heartbeat, water rushing, electricity humming, like the vault collapse had awakened something in the bones of Frankfurt itself. Lucas whispered, “Are you sure this isn’t a dead end?”

Kessler didn’t look back. “I built half the escape routes you’re walking through. Stay close.”

Charlie’s voice was low but sharp. “You built them for Kessler the financier or Kessler the assassin?”

Kessler’s smirk flickered. “Same man. Different masks.”

The corridor narrowed, forcing them single-file. Overhead, a vent rattled, then a faint echo of voices reached them. More players. Lucas’s eyes widened. “They’re close.”

Charlie slowed, straining to hear: German-accented voices, maybe three or four men, moving fast.

Kessler pointed toward a maintenance ladder leading up to a rusty hatch. “That takes us to an old tram tunnel. It’s outside most surveillance grids.”

The hatch above creaked when he tested it. “Still works. Go.”

Lucas climbed first, pushing the hatch open with a screech. Cold night air spilled down. Charlie followed, then Kessler. 

They emerged into a forgotten tram station: cracked tiles, broken benches, and an abandoned rail line swallowed by darkness.

Charlie scanned the shadows. The platform smelled of mildew and old oil. “This place is a graveyard.”

“Exactly why it’s perfect,” Kessler said. “Few cameras, fewer people.”

A holographic arrow blinked in the air, pointing north. Safe Zone: 2.3 km.

Lucas groaned. “Two kilometers… with other players hunting us.”

The sound of boots on tile echoed from the tunnel mouth. Flashlights flared in the distance, white beams cutting through dust. Charlie hissed, “Incoming.”

Kessler grabbed a piece of rebar from the debris pile. “Two entrances, tunnel and stairwell. Hold them off or we’re dead.”

Lucas ducked behind a pillar. “We can’t fight four guys with one pistol and a stick!”

“We fight smart,” Charlie said. He grabbed a broken tram seat, pried loose its metal frame, and rigged it against a railing with some discarded wire. “Tripwire trap. Might buy us a second.”

The flashlights drew closer. Voices, taunting, confident. “Charlie!” one called in a singsong tone. “The Game says you’re moving up fast. But rookies don’t last long.”

Another voice chuckled. “Drop the case and we’ll make it quick.”

Charlie whispered, “Lucas, when I say run, you follow the arrow. Kessler and I will slow them down.”

Lucas shook his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re not leaving, you’re buying us time. Safe Zone’s priority.”